50 Starts
by TVJunkie1013
Summary: I found this challenge in The Office fandom. Basically, it’s “50 ways to start a story.” There are 50 words and you have to write only 1 or 2 paragraphs for each one. This first group of 20 is HawkeyeBJ pairing ... so SLASH warning!
1. Prompts 1 thru 20 HawkeyeBJ

**Title:** 50 Starts -- Numbers 1-20  
**Author:** Lisa M  
**Fandom:** MASH  
**Pairing:** BJ/Hawkeye  
**Prompt**: #96 Writer's Choice -- BJ/Hawkeye pairing  
**Rating: **17+ (Major)  
**Word Count:** 1769  
**Disclaimer: **Nope … still don't own anything.  
**Summary:** None that would make any sense.

**A/N**: I found this challenge in The Office fandom. Basically, it's "50 ways to start a story." There are 50 words and you have to write only 1 or 2 paragraphs for each one. It was fun, silly exercise in writing. I'm going to post them in groupings by pairing -- and most will only be 10 prompts … except for BJ/Hawkeye, of course!

* * *

**1. Dream**

It's been years, yet in his dreams he still hears the whispers; smells the sweat and the gin and the undeniable scent that belonged only to him. There were so many nights in Korea that he spent wishing he was home, back with his family. Now that he's here, he wishes he was back there; so he lives for his dreams. The one place where he can be wrapped tightly in Hawkeye's arms, his head nestled comfortably on his friend's chest as the man's heart pulsed warmly against his cheek.

Deep within the dream, Beej presses closer, his skin molding into Hawkeye's. In his Mill Valley bed, the flesh and bone BJ Hunnicutt rolls over in his sleep and slips out from underneath the slight weight of his wife's body.

**2. Hour**

The minutes tick away, one by one, and are swallowed beneath the endless streams of blood that cover the floor. Hawkeye's back throbs. His legs ache. His heart breaks a little more with each patient that passes before him. Yet, all it takes is a quick glance over his shoulder at BJ or his friend's soft touch at his elbow and Hawkeye feels as if all is right again.

**3. Burn**

BJ really hates clichés. "The early bird catches the worm?" He wonders what's the point? "What comes around, goes around?" Okay, that's nice, but why can't people just say what needs to be said without using some tired, over-used figure of speech?

But, when Hawkeye's hands trace over the plane of his back and settle in their customary spot at the base of his spine, BJ shivers and thinks "My God. His touch is like fire." -- and even though he hates the phrase, it's the only description that comes to mind.

**4. Touch**

He puts their disagreement behind him -- it doesn't matter anyway. What does matter is that Hawkeye has been there for him, whenever he needed him; starting on that very first day.

BJ stands and places his hand on Hawkeye's arm. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"Let's go, Hawk."

And when Hawkeye's hand snakes its way around BJ's forearm, he knows that he is forgiven too.

**5. Dice**

Hawkeye has heard the saying "life is nothing but a crap shoot" ever since he was a little boy. His dad used to say it. His professors all said it. He's never been good at craps … it's just not his game, and if there's any truth in that saying, well, then Hawkeye's had the worst luck imaginable.

Until the day he chased Trapper to Kimpo. It was a risk. A toss of the dice. And he'd lost that bet. Trapper was gone. But Hawkeye decided to gamble again. And BJ was the luckiest roll he'd ever made.

**6. History**

It takes a long time for Hawkeye to get used to him. To see him in Trapper's bed; his clothes hanging on Trapper's hook in pre-OP; his fingers wrapped around Trapper's martini glass.

Then, more quickly than expected, the ghost of Trapper disappears and BJ is truly here. Yet, no matter how close they get, no matter how far he falls in love, Hawkeye never forgets the friend who was here first.

The one who went home.

**7. Distance**

It's only been a week, but it feels as if it's been a lifetime. The miles that stretch between here and there seem to number in the millions instead of a few thousand. Different oceans, different climates, different families. One love that will forever bind us together.

I miss him.

**8. Taste**

Rot-gut gin and stale cigars. Powdered eggs and baloney sandwiches. Sweat and blood and fear. These are the flavors he will take home with him. The taste of things that will haunt him; continuously reminding him of where he's been and what he's done. All that has been lost.

There is only one flavor he wants to remember. One that will make him smile when he calls the taste up from his memories.

Hawkeye.

**9. Date**

"Sweet Preserves" was what he'd signed the note. And he waited patiently until the nurses had had their fun with Hawkeye. They drank all of his wine then left him in the supply room, with egg on his face and his ego in pieces. BJ opened the door and stepped into the room. He had a smile on his face and a full bottle of wine in his hand. As the door slipped shut, coat hanger securely placed over the knob, Hawkeye smiled too.

"You?"

"Me."

**10. Rain**

The fat droplets soak their skin, yet neither man notices. They roll around in the sweet, wet grass, joining again and again until they are well beyond sated. And when their time together is over, they stand and embrace as the torrent of water falling from the heavens rinses their soiled bodies clean. One final kiss and they go back to their normal, real lives.

**11. Silk**

There is a box under his cot. It contains a beautiful robe, crimson in color. He bought it for Peg … a gift to make up for their missed anniversaries. His wife doesn't care for red, yet he purchased the robe in this color for a very specific reason. One he will never reveal to Peggy. Red is his color and BJ wants to remember it. Wants to see it every day. Even if it is his wife wearing it -- instead of Hawkeye.

**12. Money**

"Well, Beej, it's down to just you and me."

"Looks that way."

"Think you can handle the pressure?"

"Just shut up and bet already."

"Fine," Hawkeye glances at his cards. A vague smile curls his lips and he pushes the entire pile of chips sitting in front of him into the center of the table. "I'm all in."

"Yeah? Well, I think you're bluffing."

"Call me on it, big guy."

"Okay," BJ matches Hawkeye's bet and his smile. "All in. Let's see those cards, fella."

"Four aces!" he shouts and slaps his cards down on the table. "Beat that, sucker!"

"Huh. Four aces," BJ strokes his moustache for a moment. "Good hand. Unfortunately, not as good as mine." He lays his cards down with a wide, toothy grin.

"You had a royal flush?"

"Yep," BJ pulls his winnings towards him as Hawkeye watches in despair.

"Lucky stiff."

"We'll see …"

"I'm sorry I took all your money, Hawk."

"Don't worry about it," the older doctor shifts in his friend's arms so they can be face to face. "I feel better already. This," he pauses to press his lips to BJ's, "is worth more than gold."

**13. Name**

Hawkeye. Such a silly word. Two syllables that basically define a bird's sight, as if that is somehow important. What it is, is utterly ridiculous. Yet, every time I hear BJ whisper it into the night air, I swear to myself that there is no better name in the entire world.

**14. Skin**

Under the cover of darkness, I blow a quick breath of warm air across Hawkeye's nude shoulder. He shivers and arches against me. I watch as goose bumps rise in waves across the expanse of his back. It's amazing how something so simple could give me this much pleasure.

**15. Baby**

She is only with us for a short time, but I realize during the drive to the monastery, that I love her. And as BJ and I stand here, holding her between us, I have a vision of the three of us. A family. Together, after the war. Happy. My eyes meet BJ's and I can see an identical portrait reflected in his eyes. Seconds later, the picture is gone and in its place is darkness and stone and a solitary bell that one of us must ring. Then we're leaving her behind.

My heart breaks as we drive away into the night. I turn to see tears running down BJ's face. Our hands weave together in the blackness of the night. We hold tight to each other and hope that the sorrow we're feeling will eventually pass.

**16. Lie**

"Don't worry about me, Beej. I'll be fine."

I say it every time we're together. He says he's concerned. That he wonders if I'll be okay when the war's over and our relationship has to end. I tell him I'll be fine. And each time I say the words, I feel my heart break a little bit more because I know I won't be fine. But I will never admit it … especially to him.

**17. Gossip**

Every time his hand brushes mine, I wonder if they notice? Do they know about us … about the things we do to each other under the cover of night? Can they hear me moaning his name into my pillow? Or hear him chanting mine like a soft prayer as he sprays his essence deep inside of me? Are they whispering about us in the dark corners of camp?

If they are, I don't know about it. And when BJ holds me tightly within the circle of his arms, I'm not sure that I even care.

**18. Love**

I listen to you weave your tale, laughing at yourself as you speak. The sound is musical. A smile crosses my lips as your eyes meet mine across the table and I realize that if laughter were love, I'd be falling in love with you a million times a day.

Beneath the table, I feel your leg brush against mine and I think that maybe falling in love with you over and over again wouldn't be such a bad thing.

**19. Whisper**

He rolls over in his sleep and presses his cheek against my chest. His breathing is slow and steady -- the sound of peace -- and I've never felt so calm, so comfortable, so cared for.

"I love you, Beej," I say, my voice barely audible, and I pray he doesn't hear me because I'm afraid that if he did, the dream would end.

**20. Words**

I write to her every day. Tell her how much I miss her. And Erin. How much I want to come home. What I don't say is that I have fallen in love with Hawkeye. I've started to explain, once or twice, but the right words, if there actually are any, won't come, and those letters always end up in the trash.

One day, this war will end. I will go home. Maybe then, I'll be brave enough to actually tell her the truth about me.


	2. Prompts 21 thru 30 CharlesMargaret

**Title:** 50 Starts -- Numbers 21-30  
**Pairing:** Charles/Margaret  
**Prompt:** #97 Writer's Choice - Charles/Margaret pairing  
**Rating: **17+ (Major)  
**Word Count:** 761

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

* * *

**21. Ring**

He sees her staring at it. Wistful. Sad. She says that she loves it, but he knows she's lying. There is no sparkle in her eyes when she speaks of her husband or the choice he made for the symbol of their marriage.

Charles knows that, if he ever has his chance with Margaret, he will make the right decision. He will choose a ring that is as beautiful as she is.

**22. Dance**

The lights are dim, the music soft. Alone in the Officers Club, Charles holds out his hand and Margaret accepts it in her own. They close the distance between them and begin to sway.

Margaret lays her head on his shoulder and Charles has never felt happier in his entire life.

**23. Magic**

Korea is hell. I have seen things in this place that I know will scar me for life. But, I also found her here. Sometimes I wonder if she is an illusion; a rabbit in the hat; a magician's trick. Then she touches me and I know she's real.

**24. Body**

Charles marvels at Margaret each time his hands touch her. Soft, smooth skin, warm beneath his fingertips. Muscles that tighten, then become supple again as he moves against her. The gentle curves of her shoulders and hips.

The doctor in him knows each and every medical term to describe Margaret from head to toe; bone by bone; muscle after muscle.

The man in him doesn't care. He is happy to simply revel in the feel of her body wrapped around his.

**25. Key**

Margaret enters the Swamp and places something in Charles' palm. She closes his fingers around it and squeezes his hand tightly within hers. It is a small, metal object and when she releases him, he slides it into his pocket without even taking a glance at it. Instead, his fingers trace the edges and he feels a wide, rounded smooth top and a long, thin, jagged bottom.

"What is this for?" he questions, his voice almost lower than a whisper.

"I think you already know," she answers cryptically, then smiles and walks away.

Hours later, deep into the night, Charles sneaks quietly out of the Swamp. He is careful -- he doesn't want to wake his tent mates -- the door closing silently behind him. Moments later, he stands before her tent. Charles pulls the item from his pocket and slips it into the lock. It clicks softly and the door opens. He steps over the threshold to find Margaret waiting for him.

**26. Art**

Margaret loves to watch Charles work. The way his hands move; so skilled, so perfect. There are moments when she almost feels as if she's watching Picasso as he paints his magnum opus; Mozart writing in the final flawless note in one of his symphonies.

And she wonders what kind of masterpiece Charles might create if he uses his hands on her.

**27. Flirt**

She told me she had something in her eye. I inspected it for her and found nothing. When she complained again, I realized that perhaps she had different intentions. I leaned in, pretending to check for the offending particle. Our lips were so close that I could feel her breath brushing across them.

If Father Mulcahy hadn't walked in at that very moment, I believe I would have taken that final step forward and found out what Margaret's true intentions were.

**28. Friend**

As her jeep pulled away from the 4077th, Margaret turned back an waved at the men she'd spent the past eternity with. One set of eyes caught hers and held them. Her fingers tightened on the book in her lap and she smiled. Margaret knew she would never forget him.

**29. Music**

His fingers slide along her spine as if he is playing a piano. She arches into his touch as soft sounds tumble from her lips. Fingers are replaced by his mouth and he makes his way down to the small of her back. His name, spoken into the air as nothing more than a throaty moan, brings a smile to his face.

Mozart? Maybe not, but Charles prefers this genre of music now.

**30. Sleep**

They collapse against each other, utterly spent; skin soaked with sweat, bodies humming pleasantly in the places where they are still connected. Eyes slip closed as sleep comes to claim them. Neither fights the inevitable, and they both allow the sandman to pull them into his warm, peaceful embrace.


	3. Prompts 31 thru 40 TrapperMargaret

**Title:** 50 Starts -- Numbers 31-40  
**Pairing:** Trapper/Margaret  
**Prompt**: #98 Writer's Choice - Trapper/Margaret pairing  
**Rating: **17+ (Major)  
**Word Count:** 858

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

* * *

**31. Umbrella**

He had found it on one of his and Hawkeye's trips into Seoul. The handle was yellow -- it matched the shade of her hair. The parasol was filled with butterflies of every color imaginable. When Hawkeye saw it and asked the obvious question, he'd said he was buying it to send home to his wife for her birthday.

That was a lie.

He wrapped it in plain brown paper and laid it on her bed.

They spent the next few hours together in post-op, and when their long, late shift was finished, he offered to walk her back to her tent and she accepted. When she opened the door, she saw the package on her cot. She turned and glanced at him suspiciously. He shrugged and suggested she open it. When she did, her eyes lit up -- just as he'd hoped they would.

And Trapper tried not to mind that she thought it was from Frank.

**32. Gravity**

Trapper's muscled body presses down on top of her, the pure weight of him nearly causing her to suffocate. But Margaret doesn't care. She won't move or push him away. The pleasure sweeping through her at the feel of his hot skin molded perfectly to hers won't allow it, so instead, she pulls him closer.

**33. Freckle**

Margaret has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I never noticed them before. Probably because she's never let me get close enough to her to actually see them. But today, in the supply shed, she does.

As we huddle together beneath the itchy wool blankets, I see them. A small sprinkling of barely visible orange spots. She looks absolutely angelic, and I am filled with a fierce desire to kiss them. But I don't. She's already rejected my advances once.

Instead, I tuck myself in behind her and snuggle into her shoulder. As I feel myself drifting off into sleep, I tell myself that one day, I should tell her how perfect her freckles are.

**34. Nothing**

I told Frank that, while we were locked in the supply room during the shelling, Margaret and I hadn't done anything. I guess in the strictest sense, it was actually the truth. What I didn't admit to was that I realized I really like Margaret Houlihan. As a nurse. As a woman. I like everything about her.

And that's not nothing.

**35. Moon**

They race through the dark field, fumbling around like children. One yells tag and runs off. The other follows. When they meet again, both fall to the ground. Laughter fills the night air as they roll in the grass, over and over again, until finally coming to a rest beneath a small, sickly-looking tree. Mouths join together in a tender kiss. The clouds that fill the sky part, allowing a single shaft of white moonlight to shine down on them.

**36. Hair**

We live in a world filled with blood and dust. Booze and sweat. Antiseptic and death. Day after day. Horror upon horror. Yet, when I turn my head and bury it within her soft, blond hair, she smells of roses, and I can forget, for just a moment, that there is more to life than this place.

**37. Sex**

Clothes are discarded. Lips meet. Bodies join together. They rock slowly. Kisses deepen. The passion intensifies, then muscles lock in place. Breathing ceases for a moment until names are whispered into air. One final kiss and they separate.

**38. Dark**

The night is their friend. It hides them from prying eyes. Blankets them in the secrecy they need. The secrecy they want. He has his reputation here and his wife back home. And she has Frank. No one else knows they've fallen in love. No one but them … and the dark that conceals them.

**39. Tense**

Twenty-eight hours. Twenty-eight long hours on his feet in the OR. He lays prone, face down on her cot as her hands massage his back. She kneads and presses his flesh until the knotted muscles beneath become pliable. One by one, they submit, then yield to her fingers and when each one has softened, Margaret slides off of Trapper's back and snuggles in beside him. He rolls over and pulls her against his body. Their lips meet as her hand slips down his side. There is one final part of him that is still a little tense.

**40. Suspicion**

Margaret is watching him from her tent again. He can see her out of the corner of his eyes. Each time he tosses the football, he uses it as an excuse to glance over. And each time, she pulls back from the door. Trapper has his suspicions as to why she's there. Why she's watching. He's mentioned it to Hawkeye, but Hawkeye thinks he's crazy.

"There's no way that Hot Lips wants anything from you, except for maybe a salute and possibly an apology."

That's what Hawkeye had said.

But Trapper is convinced it's something else. And tonight, he plans to pay her a visit and find out.


	4. Prompts 41 thru 50 GeneralSeries

**Title:** 50 Starts -- Numbers 41-50  
**Pairing:** None - General Series  
**Prompt: **#99 - Writer's Choice - General MASH  
**Rating: **Teen (Sergeant)  
**Word Count:** 551

See Part 1 for disclaimers.

* * *

**41. Smile**

Their jokes are ridiculously juvenile. An exercise in immaturity. Stupidity in its purest form. There are times, however, when he can't stop the corners of his mouth from curling upward. He tries to ignore them -- sometimes he can't. He has no excuse. What can he say? Even an uptight, high-brow Bostonian occasionally needs to be a child.

And it's in these moments that Charles lets go and jokes right along with them.

**42. Note**

"Hawk, there's so much to say but so little time to say it. I'm sorry I couldn't wait for you to come back before I left. I'll miss you more than you'll ever know."

Why were those three simple sentences so impossible to write -- for either of them?

**43. Home**

Hot showers. Apple pie. Soft beds. Clean clothes. Family. Friends. A '52 Chevy. Mowing the lawn on a hot summer day.

Freedom.

**44. Blood**

Red. Wet. Coppery. It spills out from their wounds and pools around our exhausted feet. We take needles and thread and do our best to sew them up. To save them. Most days, we succeed. Sometimes we don't. The only definite here is that the crimson rivers will continue to flow no matter how much we pray for them to stop.

**45. Self**

Radar is confused. He's not sure who he is anymore. Naïve Iowa farm boy or hardened war veteran. They all want him to be the boy he was before he'd left home. But after all he's seen, how is that possible? He knows it's not. Radar just wishes that everyone else understood.

**46. Hate**

Frank doesn't get it. He can't imagine what he's ever done to any of them. A Major in the U.S. Army, he demands respect, though he rarely gets it; metes out discipline with a firm hand when it's needed, though no one ever listens to him. That is his job -- one he does very well. But he just can't figure out why everyone hates him so much.

**47. Run**

When BJ kisses him, Charles runs afterward. Not because he's angry or disgusted, but because he's so afraid. Terrified that if their lips touch again, that he'll fall so hard and so fast for the other surgeon, that he'll never be able to get back up again.

**48. Free**

The bullets stop flying. The mortars no longer fall. The patients are checked then sent to the hospitals. The tents are taken down. Bags packed. Goodbyes said. Then it's over and we all go home.

**49. Face**

They will haunt me until the day I die. Every soldier, every civilian, every child that passes before me. Each one that is placed on my table, requiring the blade of my scalpel, the skill of my hands; depending on me for their survival. I can't see them now, there are too many. They blur together in one long line of blood. But each night I know their faces will be in my dreams.

**50. Smell**

Sulfur. Antiseptic. Blood. Sweat. Alcohol. Tears.

All of these things smell the same to them now. They have become the scents of war. Of fear. Of evil. And they will forever serve as a reminder of the years they've lost.


End file.
